


To Each Their Own Misunderstanding

by SOMETHINREAL



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Bars/Clubs, Bottom Kim Wonpil, Breakups, Drinking, Getting Back Together, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Smut, Top Kang Younghyun | YoungK, Wonpil is a Confident Gay, jealous! Brian, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOMETHINREAL/pseuds/SOMETHINREAL
Summary: It's like the world is getting off to Brian's absolute misery.(alternatively: brian gets jealous over something he shouldn't and expects a night filed with sorrows and self-loathing but instead gets an explanation. oh, and sex).





	To Each Their Own Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this originally as a johnten fic right after mx had a comeback with jealousy, but then forgot about it until two nights ago when I was clearing out my google docs and decided to finish it, so at the beginning it is heavily based off of that. it starts off pretty heavy (as far as nearly hooking up with your ex goes) but turns into fluff faster than you can say youngfeel. enjoy kiddos!!

There’s been a wide array of occurrences over the past week that could have led to the situation Brian’s in right now. It could have been the bus that decided to break down the day that he’s running late for class, the textbooks he’d forgotten somewhere that he needs in order to study for the exams that decide whether or not he’s graduating college with a diploma, his boss that’s been kicking his ass and giving him work that he’s not paid or eligible to do, maybe even being dumped a week prior, but right now Brian’s getting plastered in the nightclub a five minute bus ride from his apartment.

The music is really loud and there’s a lot of people but he’s drinking something that tastes vaguely like whiskey and it feels pretty good. He doesn’t quite think that his problems can qualify for the the title Mid-life Crisis quite yet because he’s not yet twenty-five and his issues do not quite fit the term existential, it’s more so he’s wondering why the world decided to say _Here you go, Brian: bad things happening to you one after the other over the course of eight days, have fun!_ but he’s really not having any of it.

Maybe it’s sad; the way he’s tipping back glass after glass, the burn of the alcohol simmering down to a numb tingle after his sixth or seventh or maybe even ninth glass. Maybe what he’s doing is unhealthy and ill thought out, something that sounds like a good idea in the moment but then you wake up the next morning with a pounding head and hazy memories and wonder how you got so fucked up. Maybe he’s going to regret this and maybe he isn’t, but the buzz in his veins makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine and he’s not worried about the negative repercussions, nor the music that makes his head throb and the sweaty people too close for comfort and the bartender who keeps shooting him mildly worried glances every time he asks for a refill.

There’s a mix of different people in the crowd, young, old, pretty girls with their hair flowing over their shoulders dancing with guys who emit such a Straight Aura it makes Brian gag a little, then the complete opposite, and some girls dancing with girls, and even boys dancing with-- _holy fucking shit_.

It’s like the world is getting off to Brian’s absolute misery.

Yeah, okay, cool, pull some stupid shit that will mildly affect his day and make him moderately unhappy, whatever, but put him in the same room with the guy that he just got dumped by while he’s trying to drink away his sorrows? That’s just unfair, universe. It’s not like Brian’s even just seeing him, maybe that’d be more bearable, but he’s got not one, but _two_ other guys all over him, touching him, it makes Brian want to simultaneously combust and throw serious hands. But he can’t, so he orders another double shot of whiskey and tries desperately not to scream.

 

-

 

He really tries to ignore it, but eventually the bartender cuts him off and he doesn’t even feel drunk anymore, completely sober and aware that Wonpil is still off dancing with two random people. God, the thought makes Brian clench his fists. He has to close his eyes in order to calm himself down because the situation is just so ridiculously unnecessary and ill-fitting. He can’t feel like this, he shouldn’t and he knows that the fact that he does probably makes him a shitty person. He and Wonpil are broken up, so that means that he shouldn’t give a shit about what he does on his free time, he shouldn’t care that some man’s hand is centimetres away from Wonpil’s ass, shouldn’t care that Wonpil’s looking at him.

Wonpil is looking at him.

Wonpil is looking at him and _smirking_. Smirking like he knows exactly what’s going through Brian’s head. The insinuation is making him dizzy.

Maybe it’s actually the fact that he’s stood up and walking the few metres that it takes him to get to Wonpil that makes him dizzy. Brian might be more drunk than he initially thought now that he’s realizing what he’s doing. Brian’s bigger than the other two guys, so they pull away as soon as he wraps his fingers around Wonpil’s wrist and pulls him out of the crowd into the single stalled bathroom, which is what he realizes the room is once he’s leaning against the sink with a hand in his hair.

“I knew you would do that,” Wonpil tells him, and he’s still smirking, Brian can still see it even if his vision is a little off and his hand is sort of covering his eyes. He doesn’t budge, remaining silent until Wonpil steps closer, hands on either side of Brian’s hips, until Brian can feel the heat radiating off of him.

“I hated every second of that,” he says without thinking, mentally cursing himself, but Wonpil just reaches up on his tiptoes to Brian’s ear.

“Do you know what’s that called?” he whispers, and it runs a chill through Brian’s spine. “Jealousy, baby. You’re jealous.”

As if he didn’t already know that. He wanted nothing more than to be those men who had their hands all over Wonpil; _wants_ nothing more to push him against the wall of this bathroom and _ruin_ him, but he fucking _can’t_ and it fucking sucks.

“I did it on purpose,” Wonpil adds wistfully, “I knew you’d be watching me. Did you like the show I put on for you?”

“Why?” is all that Brian can force out, because as far as he knows, people who are broken up aren’t supposed to be this close to each other in the bathroom of a dingy club.

“Because I still want you.”

Brian’s about to ask why they broke up then, but he’s interrupted when Wonpil kisses him hard on the mouth.

They’ve kissed before, having been together for nearly two years, but it’s different. Brian thinks it’s because he’s been without Wonpil’s kisses for so long (if a week can be considered a long time) that it simply feels more electrified than the habitual kisses after school or work or before drifting off to sleep or during their more _personal_ times; the fact that he’s been craving it for days, that he’s missed it, that he’s wanted it more than anything.

So it feels pretty good when Wonpil lets Brian push him up against the poster and graffiti covered wall adjacent to the sink, allows Brian’s teeth to nip at his bottom lip, his rough fingers to hold that stupidly sharp jaw in place. And it feels even better when Wonpil opens up his mouth and lets Brian in, whimpers pitifully around his tongue when Brian’s fingertips skim his nipples over his godforsaken silk dress shirt, in which the top three buttons are undone, exposing the collarbones which Brian has marked too many times to count, and the front is tucked into a pair of skin tight black jeans that Wonpil is practically poured into. It’s just all a little overwhelming.

Brian is teetering on the point of being unsure whether or not that he’s still wasted and imagining this or positive that he’s so sober that he can feel Wonpil all the way in his _toes_ . And it feels like they’ve been kissing for hours when Wonpil pulls Brian’s hand down his chest to rest at the front of his jeans, mumbles a small _Please_ against his lips when he does nothing.

“I’m not doing anything to you in here,” Brian tells him as he breaks away, pressing his lips to the corner of Wonpil’s jaw just as the smaller whines _Hyung, why?_ “Because,” he says, “it’s gross. Do you know how many people fuck in here on the daily? How often to you think they clean this?”

“Then where?” He’s short of breath and Brian can hear it, can feel the whine he’s got on the tip of his tongue, presses the heel of his hand to the front of Wonpil’s pants just to hear him whimper.

“My apartment,” Brian says. It’s only a five minute bus ride; he figures that they can tough it out until then.

“But that’s so _far_ ,” Wonpil whines.

“My apartment or you can find someone else to fuck you. I have no problem with going home by myself.” This is a complete and total lie. He very much _would_ mind someone other than him fucking Wonpil and he absolutely does _not_ want to go home on his own tonight. The whimper of his name is enough to know that Wonpil is on board. Brian tries to calm his shakes when he pulls away; hardens his face. “I’ll be outside at the bus stop. Fix yourself up. You don’t want this whole club seeing you like this.” Wonpil bites his lip. Brian raises his eyebrows, amused. “You _would_ like that, wouldn’t you? For everyone out there to see how much of a mess I can make you? For all of them to see how pretty you are quivering and begging?”

Wonpil throws his head against the wall. “Go outside before I _literally_ cum in my pants.”

Brian likes to think that he’s pretty good at putting up a front. Right now, there’s so much adrenaline coursing through him that he can feel it shaking his fingertips; he easily falls into the dominant place that Wonpil always had wanted him to, but he’s still tip toeing. Yeah Wonpil says that he still wants Brian, and yeah they’re going back to his place to have sex, but then what? Brian’s so scared about losing it again that he’ll do anything to keep it in tact, and if that’s putting up a front, so be it.

Putting up a front is the easy part. The hardest part is keeping that front up. Brian may seem calm and collected, and sure, he can keep it up for a bit, but his resolve is slowly crumbling with each step Wonpil takes closer to where he’s sitting on at the bus stop.

“Hey,” he says when Wonpil sits next to him. Their thighs brush. Brian nudges their knees together.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. You were just holding my dick.” Brian can’t find it in him to laugh. The front is gone completely now.

“Why did we break up if you were just going to do this a week later?”

He can hear Wonpil sigh but he doesn’t look from where he’s staring across the street. “Do we have to do this now? You didn’t seem bothered two minutes ago.”

“I’m not going to do anything with you if you’re just going to leave again.”

“I won’t,” Wonpil says, and he sounds like he means it, and Brian feels bad for ruining the mood but it just kind of hurts knowing that he might as well just be one of those guys from the club.

“The last time you said that, you did.”

When Wonpil takes his hand, he feels a rush of familiarity wash over him like a wave, slowly rising, then coming down and crashing all at once. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry that I left. I was confused and stressed and thought that if I took a break from everything that things would start to make sense. My boss fired me, I had stress from exams, and so many other things were coming into play that I just wanted everything to stop. I’m sorry that I said such awful things to you the other day. I didn’t mean any of them; it was just the only way that I knew I could stop things. I’m sorry that instead of telling you things were going bad I made them worse.

“You know, I saw you in the club a long time before you walked in. I was watching you drink all that alcohol. I felt so bad knowing that it was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I didn’t even want those guys all over me. They were gross. I just know that you get over protective of me, so I had to do something to grab your attention somehow. I’m really sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Brian says, and he means it. “Come on,” he adds, “the bus is here.”

 

-

 

When they get to Brian’s apartment, their kisses aren’t as harsh as they’d been inside the single-stalled bathroom of the club, not with Wonpil’s apology lingering over them, or with Brian’s front left in pieces a few blocks back, no, they kiss soft, reclaiming what once belonged to the other; the rush of adrenaline now gone. Brian kisses each piece of clothing off of Wonpil’s body, lets his lips linger over each inch of tanned skin exposed with each button undone. He relishes in the fact that Wonpil’s body quivers under his touch, that Wonpil lets Brian take him apart and then put him back together, that he can reduce him to a puddle of want with just a few kisses.

Wonpil’s hands aren’t scared to wander. He’s gentle in untucking Brian’s t-shirt with deft fingers and sliding his hands underneath, over his soft stomach and broad chest, mentally mapping out all of the places he’s missed, what he wants to kiss; the beauty mark above Brian’s navel, the stretch marks on his hips, each collar bone. He tugs insistently, grinning when Brian complies to his asking and removes the article of clothing, albeit with a little trouble. They flip over easily, Wonpil crawls over Brian; presses his lips to the new skin exposed, smiles when Brian shivers at the featherlight contact.

There’s a hazy line of time from the point where Brian is sinking his fingers into Wonpil to where Wonpil is slowly inching down on his length, but within the time, their hot breath mingles with each kiss, Brian’s hands grip Wonpil’s hips, holding him steady, keeping him grounded, and their moans mix once Wonpil is all the way down. And it’s so gentle, so sweet, and it really shouldn’t be for what took place in that club only some thirty minutes beforehand, but they’d missed this. Brian hand missed the way Wonpil had felt around him, the way he surrounded him. Wonpil had missed the way that Brian kisses make his skin tingle, how each lingering touch is warmer than the last, the way he fills him up so well.

Wonpil’s arms wrap around Brian’s neck, and Brian pushes himself up so he’s seated with Wonpil in his lap, hips kicking as he hugs Wonpil’s middle and thrusts into him gently, as if to match the pace that Wonpil grinds down on him. He holds Wonpil to his chest, murmuring into his hair as he fucks up into him, listening to Wonpil whine, his erection caught between the two of them, rubbing against Brian’s stomach just right.

“Hyung,” Wonpil pants out, the softest whine to his tone, “I’m so close. Don’t stop, please.”

It only edges Brian on more.

His hips pick up speed to match Wonpil’s grinding, holding him close and snaking a hand between them to stroke his length. Wonpil moans loud when he comes between the two of them, all over both Brian’s chest and his own stomach. Brian follows suit, groaning lowly when he spills into Wonpil, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life.

Once they come down, Brian moves to get wet wipes from his desk and cleans them both up, then digs in his closet for some clothes for them to wear. He gives Wonpil his favourite sweatshirt and a pair of boxers while he settles for some trackpants.

“You didn’t tell me you got fired,” Brian says after a while, once the reading lamp is off and they’re tucked under the covers and all that illuminates the room is the dim glow of the street lights outside Brian’s window.

“I didn’t want you to stress over it,” Wonpil explains quietly, moving so that his head is resting on Brian’s bare chest. Brian wraps an arm around him. “You had exams and I knew you were already stressed about that, I just thought that it would be less mental exhaustion for you, seeing as I knew you’d worry about money and stuff, thinking that you’d have to make more to pay off my half of the rent or something.”

“You still could have told me. You know, even though things felt like they were going to shit, we probably could have talked it through.” Brian doesn’t blame Wonpil, not at all, for if their positions were switched, he probably would have done the same. It’s not like it matters now anyways.

“I’m sorry,” Wonpil says. Maybe Brian shouldn’t have brought it up.

“No, Pillie, I’m not mad. I was just saying. Anyways, we’ll be better now, right?” He feels Wonpil smile against his chest.

“Much better,” Wonpil agrees.

Brian pauses a moment. “Is it weird to say I love you?”

“Why would it be? You still do, right?” Brian’s not sure if Wonpil is joking or not, so he kisses his hair.

“Of course I do. I’ve kind of been dying to say it all night.”

Wonpil giggles. “You’re a loser,” he says. Then: “I love you too.”

Outside the window, a car passes by.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](http://twitter.com/hfkyounghyun)


End file.
